


Mortuus Est, Et Periit

by rebelcongeriem



Series: Heart Like a Wheel [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Family, Family Angst, Regulus floundering, Sirius floundering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 06:53:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16341929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelcongeriem/pseuds/rebelcongeriem
Summary: Regulus disappears, assumed dead, and Sirius tries to cope with it the best he can.Cross-posted from tumblr. (weaslcywheezes)





	Mortuus Est, Et Periit

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted this on tumblr but then decided to go ahead and upload it to ao3. As my first published work, I must say I couldn't have chosen better myself. Sirius and Regulus certainly deserved better. In any case, I hope you guys enjoy this little piece of angst. xD.

  
Arms draped over the long stretch of mahogany bar, chin resting against the dark, scuffed wood, Sirius locked bleary, red-rimmed eyes with his own disheveled reflection in the mirror hanging directly above the display of numerous, name-brand bottles situated behind the bar (advertising all manner of muggle drink, none of which was strong enough to stave off the seemingly bottomless well of emotion threatening to pull him down, down, _down_ —into the abyss of mental turmoil and self-castigation.)

His baby brother—his little Reggie, with his beseeching, dark brown eyes and shy, hopeful smile—was... _gone_.

Without a trace, his body missing.

Assumed dead.

A mystery the aurors, his _alleged_ comrades-in-arms, had endeavored to solve with all the earnestness of a group who simply hated to leave things unfinished—and given his brother’s _alleged_ ties to that genocidal maniac who fashioned himself the dark lord of change, it was obvious where their resolve had originated from. But it hadn’t been long before they’d decided to blow the whistle on their hunt for answers...after claiming their limited resources had to be put to better use, of course.

But Sirius wasn’t stupid.

He knew why they’d begged off after a measly seven days, and if Regulus had been anyone else, he wouldn’t have blamed them for it. Why work yourself to the bone for an alleged death eater? What was the point?

Merlin, he wanted to rail against the injustice of it all.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t _right_.

Regulus had been _eighteen_.

Just eighteen. Too damn young to carelessly end up in a pile of missing persons reports on someone’s cluttered desk.

Of course, Reggie wasn’t the first to go missing these past two years ... nor would he be the last. Objectively, he understood that. This was war. People were bound to get hurt—or worse.

But no amount of logic could ease the blistering ache in his chest or the painful dryness of his throat.

It hurt to think of his brother as one of the lost (hurt so bloody much that his stomach churned at the very thought of never laying eyes on Regulus again, his eyes burning with suppressed tears. What right did he have to cry, though? He’d ignored the younger boy throughout most of their adolescent years, missing so many opportunities to make up with him—to assume the role of protective, older brother as he’d promised all those years ago...before obligation, jealousy and rebelliousness had torn them apart. And now it was too late.)

“Fuck,” he muttered into the cacophony of voices, enthusiastic shouts, and jeers echoing through the bar.

 _Obnoxious twats_.

Dropping his gaze to the counter, the self-acclaimed marauder bit the inside of his lip—hard enough to raise welts but not nearly hard enough to keep the more...creative expletives from slipping free.

No longer could he stand to look himself in the eye, knowing what he did.

That maybe if he’d paid closer attention to Reggie, he would’ve seen it...seen what their mother was doing by filling his head with her pureblood elitism bullshite.

That maybe if he’d kept a closer eye on him—looked out for him as he’d done when they were children—he’d be here, alive, today.

“Hey, buddy,” an irritated voice cut in, and Sirius being Sirius decided not to bother acknowledging the annoying muggle’s presence until he pointedly cleared his throat a couple times. Only then did he lift his head to stare mulishly at the bartender, whose pierced eyebrow was raised in expectation. And maybe a little disgruntlement. “You going to order anything or what?”

“Or what,” he bit out, pushing himself away from the bar with a grimace, feeling strangely lethargic and heavy. Like he hadn’t moved in days, maybe even weeks.

“Suit yourself.” The man gave a nonchalant shrug, before turning his attention elsewhere. Which was just fine with Sirius. He didn’t want or need the attention, anyway. He just wanted to forget...everything, at least for a little while. And since noisy muggle bars weren’t doing it for him, he’d have to find another way.

With a grunt and one last lackadaisical wave at the bartender, who wasn’t even looking in his direction, he stumbled out of the bar and into the crisp night air, acting for all the world as if he was drunk when, in reality, he was as sober as he’d ever been—the first time in _ages_.

But Merlin, he wished he wasn’t ( ~~seriously~~ ~~desperately~~ wished he could drown his sorrows at the bottom of a firewhiskey barrel.)

It might have made his trip from _point a_ to _point b_ slightly less difficult. Slightly less...frustrating and depressing. But somehow, some way—and with hours to kill—he found himself standing in the middle of a familiar clearing, the sounds of rustling birch leaves and swaying grass bringing a bittersweet smile to his lips.

“Why?” He whispered, gazing up at the canopy of stars overlooking the world, an endless stretch of darkness strewed with speckles of milky white. “Why’d you do it, Reggie? Why’d you give your life for something so...so...?” _What_ —trivial? Ludicrous? Did it even matter at this point?

 _No_.

He was gone.

End of story.

“Stupid, stupid boy,” Sirius croaked, forcing the words through a throat that had grown painfully dry and uncomfortably tight as poignant memories of a childhood spent avoiding their harpy of a mother with only one another for company kicked up a fuss, reminding him of a bond he’d nearly forgotten in the hectic, chaotic aftermath of his escape—the precious bond of brotherhood.

 _I’m sorry_ , _Siri_.

A sob caught in his throat, and he clenched his fists against his sides, his knuckles whitening under the strain of his grief. It was so powerful that it nearly bowled him over, invisible fingers squeezing his heart until it felt as though all the air had been wrung from his lungs.

“Me too, Reggie.” _Me too_.

* * *

 

Regulus Black gazed sadly at his brother, fingers twitching as he watched the once proud man fall apart; heart-wrenching sobs filled the meadow, raw and desolate and filled with so much pain that if he hadn’t already given his life for a worthy cause—the utter destruction of a dark lord—he very well might have buckled under the weight of Sirius’s grief, very nearly overwhelmed by the onslaught of despair that washed over him like a tidal wave, strong enough to drag him under and more than intense enough to assimilate with the regret and heartache he was forced to weather through every day.

“Siri,” he whispered, his tone melancholic as he took a step forward, hand extended as if wanting to comfort the brokenhearted man. “Please don’t cry.” His fingers, silvery and translucent in death, slid through his brother’s trembling shoulder. Disappointed, he slowly lowered his hand to his side and turned his dejected gaze toward the narrow brook that had, once upon a time, been the focal point of their childish whims, when nothing had mattered except for the fun to be had in one another’s company.

 _And look at us now_.

His family—their House—was truly lost now.

But the worst part of it all had _nothing_ to do with familial responsibilities.

It was this missed opportunity to reconcile with his rebellious older brother that caused him the most pain...that burned like bile in the back of a throat that no longer functioned as it should.

Because, contrary to popular belief, the afterlife wasn’t the perfect anesthetic to pain so many muggles hailed it as.

Pain, a distracting presence in the back of his mind, had been his constant companion for so long that he couldn't remember ever living without it, lording over him as if it couldn't get enough of seeing him broken and lost and helpless.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, falling to his knees at Sirius’s side, his own grief leaving tear-tracks on his cheeks, small, crystalline tracks that blended into the paleness of his skin. “I’m so sorry, Siri.”

 _Sorry I was weak_... _Sorry I couldn’t be more like you_.


End file.
